A Sufficient Measure
by LadyofDodge
Summary: Kitty sets out to deliver Christmas gifts to the Ronnigers. The weather was cold and cloudy, but traveling went well until an icy rain started to fall. By the time she reached the bridge crossing the Silver Creek river feed, there was a thick layer of ice on the trees, ground, and wagon...
1. Chapter 1

**A Sufficient Measure  
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**Alli Ance**

_As with a previous Alli Ance story, I am not the sole writer. This little Christmas tale is the result of an idea shared among five friends, 400-plus emails, many laughs...and a few groans. We hope you enjoy!_

xxx

_"I have thought a sufficient measure of civilization is the influence of good women." Ralph Waldo Emerson_

**Part I**

The recklessness of her decisions hadn't been of concern until this moment. Sitting huddled in mismatched, ill-fitting clothing, soaked and frigid, Kitty Russell inspected her last dry match before trying to light a small bundle of weeds for warmth. Fending off possible life-ending sleep, she recalled the past five days in which no single event, in and of itself, would have been responsible for pushing her over the edge. Collectively, however, the misfortunes had prodded her into a reckless decision to set out in a wagon on this perilous journey.

The fire at the Long Branch had been the most public of the series of disappointing events. A vagrant, trying to keep warm, had lit a fire in a barrel behind the establishment. His mistake, and the saloon's downfall, was stoking that fire with cloths that had been soaked in linseed oil. The smell of smoke and the crackle of a raging fire had awakened her in the wee hours of the morning. The town had responded quickly, but the damage had been done. Although the upstairs escaped serious harm, half the staircase was destroyed, and the floorboards above the cellar collapsed, smashing barrels and bottles and wiping out almost her entire stock of beer and whiskey. Frantic telegrams to Eddie Fitch, her supplier, returned only a message informing her that he was on a sales trip to Kansas City and St. Louis and wouldn't be back for at least two weeks. She was forced to close the Long Branch, wondering how she could make repairs without any kind of income to cover them. Discouraged, she gave the girls and Sam two weeks' pay with which to enjoy the unexpected holiday break, praying it wouldn't become permanent.

She had borne that tragedy on her own because, as was often the case, Matt Dillon was off courting his metal mistress. He had come into the Long Branch the day before the fire, distracted and in a hurry. She knew without asking that he would be leaving, but out of duty, she had asked the details. He was following up on a stage hold-up some thirty miles north of Dodge. According to the one surviving witness there had been four outlaws, who, after shooting the driver and a fellow passenger, headed in a vague southern direction.

Trying not to sound petulant, she had asked about Christmas, when they might get to celebrate together. His tight reply was not what she had wanted to hear. "Kitty, outlaws don't care if it's Christmas. You know I can't promise anything. We'll do something when I get back." His lack of conviction or commitment had touched a nerve deep inside her. It felt as each year that passed brought less and less security, less and less assurance.

He had bent down and brushed a quick kiss across her forehead and walked out of her office. She watched the door close and whispered to herself, "Merry Christmas, Cowboy."

The day after the fire, while she mopped soot off of the tables and bar, Doc Adams had stopped in to let her know that he, too, would be unavailable to spend Christmas Eve with her, as had been their tradition. He had received word of a possible cholera outbreak in a settlement between Hays and Dodge, and he was headed out to try to stem the damage. Knowing the virulent nature of the disease, he expected he could be gone a week or more.

Abandoned by those who meant the most to her, and with her saloon in disarray and no customers to attend, Kitty loaded the presents she had purchased and wrapped for the Ronniger children into a wagon and headed out to the homestead. There she hoped she could recapture a feeling of Christmas, regain a sense of worth and warmth, banish the feelings of loneliness and futility, and reclaim the security that had left her abruptly as each person and thing she cared for was taken from her this Christmas.

The weather was cold and cloudy, but traveling had gone well until an icy rain started to fall. By the time she reached the bridge crossing the Silver Creek river feed, there was a thick layer of ice on the trees, ground, and wagon. As she cautiously crossed the wooden planked bridge, the horse startled, reared back, and sent the wagon sliding over the edge of the narrow crossway. She, as well as the horse and the wagon, tumbled into the icy water.

The cold stole her breath and stung her skin. Fighting the urge to panic, she pulled herself free from the wreckage. It had been difficult getting her footing in the thigh deep water, made more difficult with the frightened horse pulling and tugging at the upended wagon. She cleared her packages and blanket from the wagon, and then returned to it, unhitching the reins and tack. The horse, anxious from the accident, bolted as soon as it was free from its constraints and struggled up the bank of the river. It whinnied as it ran, each retreating hoof beat further sealing Kitty's fate.

Trembling, Kitty rifled through the presents she had wrapped, looking for the dress she had purchased for Mary Ronniger and the shawl she had bought for Bess. As the rain turned to snow, she pulled the soaked garments off her shivering body and began tugging on the dress. Mary was smaller than Kitty, so the dress barely met in back and constricted her bosom in front. The shawl, intended for motherly Bess, was almost laughably large compared to the dress, but at least it was warm. When she draped it around her shoulders and pulled it close, she could almost imagine Bess wrapping her arms around her to still the chattering of her teeth.

She was bruised and bloody but without any serious injuries that she could discern. Dusk had fallen, the wind was howling, and a thickening curtain of snow made it increasingly hard to see. Kitty weighed her options: try to forge her way back in the dark, icy, and snowy night, clad only in the clothes she had on her back and ill-equipped shoes, or hunker down and wait for daybreak to head out. Here she had water and food and could make a fire. Out there she would have only her senses – impaired by the elements – to guide her. The decision was easy.

Her mind flashed back to the day Matt had taught her how to find dry wood and grass in wet weather. At the time, she had thought the lecture ridiculous as she was sure she wouldn't need to build her own fire anytime soon. How fortunate, though, that she had paid him some attention, and in short order was able to find suitable kindling. The matches she carried in her reticule had miraculously stayed dry, but were in short supply, as there were only two. She dropped the first match and watched, horrified, as it fizzled out in the snow. With great care she was able to get the final match to catch the dried grass, starting a feeble, but comforting fire.

She found the small burlap bag of rock candy shoved deep within the sack of packages. It was damp and sticky, but as she popped a small piece in her mouth, the taste of anise warmed her. Soon she began to doze, the cold seeping deep within her and calling her to rest. She knew she shouldn't succumb, but she felt so tired, beaten and alone. Sleep was the only refuge available. As she began to give in to it, she also gave in to sorrow. She had most likely lost the Long Branch, her friends had deserted her, her lover cared more about his job than he did about her. Maybe it would have been better if she'd just never come to Dodge at all. Her last conscious thought was that she was more alone at this moment than she had ever been in her life.

She awoke to a sense of balmy air caressing her face. As she climbed toward consciousness, she realized her whole body felt toasty as if huddled under a thick, warm quilt. She fought wakefulness, basking in the comfort, until she heard someone calling her name.

"Kitty, Kitty Russell."

Shaking off the fog, Kitty opened her eyes, only to be forced to shut them quickly as a bright light bore down on her.

"Kitty! Kathleen, open your eyes!" The voice commanded.

Reluctantly she obeyed and found the light softer, more accommodating. As she focused on the blurred shapes towering over her, one in particular began to take a familiar form.

"That's right, young lady. You open those eyes, now." A familiar, but impossible voice.

"Pan? Panacea?" Kitty whispered.

"In the flesh, my dear. My, my, you have gotten yourself into quite a predicament, haven't you?"

Kitty stared mutely for a few seconds. When she found her voice to speak, it was low, disbelieving. "But Pan, you've been – gone – now for –"

"Yes, I have, dear." Pan smiled the tight lipped smile that Kitty had been so familiar with.

Still staring, Kitty muttered under her breath, "I'm dreaming, that's it, I'm just dreaming." She wiped a hand over her eyes.

"Oh no, dear, it's not a dream. They chose me to come to you. They thought you might not be so afraid if it were I taking you." Pan grabbed Kitty's hand and gently patted it.

"Take me?" She swallowed a lump in her throat before continuing, "So does that mean…are you saying, well, am I – dead?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Kitty! You always did have a flair for the dramatic. No dear, no you're not. Well, not exactly, anyhow."

Kitty stared wide-eyed. None of this could be happening, but it felt real enough. She was still wearing the dress she had changed into; it was still snowing, but Pan, who had died some six months prior, was standing there talking to her. "Not exactly? What the hell does that mean, Pan?"

"Your worries about the saloon, your relationships. Kitty, you're unhappy, and we heard you."

"We?" Kitty interrupted, straining to look beyond Pan's large silhouette.

Pan rolled her eyes upward, dabbed at her neck with a kerchief, and continued, "We. It is time to decide, dear. Is life worth living as you know it, or are your disappointments too much to overcome?"

"I never said I wanted to give up. I just don't know what I'm going to do about the Long Branch. I could lose it, Pan." She blinked back hot tears. "Plus, I'm tired of being second, being alone, being—well, unimportant!"

"Unimportant? Kitty Russell, you have a very important part in a lot of people's lives. You can't see that?" Pan admonished.

Kitty sat up straight and turned her head from the apparition beside her. Bitterly, she responded, "Sure, important. It wouldn't matter if I were around or not. They'd all go on with their lives, just like they do now." Kitty realized how self-absorbed her words sounded, but her despair had gotten the best of her.

"You think so?" Pan smiled, took both of Kitty's long slender hands in her chubby ones, and cooed, "Well, let's just see about that."

"What are you talking about?" Kitty asked, fumbling on the final word as she suddenly found herself standing with Panacea in the middle of Front Street directly in front of the Long Branch. It was late enough to be dark but early enough for the town to be alive and kicking. "How did we get here?"

Panacea smiled again and gestured ahead. "Here's your chance, Kitty. Remember, you wanted this."

"Wanted what?"

"Let's go inside and you'll find out."

Wary, but obedient, Kitty followed her former mentor. They approached the familiar batwing doors, the blaring light and raucous noise from inside spilling garishly out onto the boardwalk. Kitty relaxed. This was home, security. Surely she would be grounded in her own surroundings and shake this crazy hallucination. Brushing past Panacea, she swept into the Long Branch. The smile died on her lips almost before it had formed.

Mismatched tables, some half broken, others patched together with baling wire, were scattered about the room. Her foot almost slipped, and when she glanced down, she frowned at the dirt, horse dung, beer and chewing tobacco stains splattering the floor. A red flush of anger swept over her.

"Sam!" she called, not bothering to mask the fury that roughened her voice. But no one answered her. She scanned the room for the bartender, bewilderment swimming amid the waves of anger. The gleaming mirror she had had shipped all the way from San Francisco was gone, replaced by the painting of a nearly naked woman lolling lasciviously on a settee, its cracked frame gouged and pitted by innumerable barroom brawls, tossed whiskey bottles, and stray bullets. The bar, always shining and polished before, was dull and filthy, as if no one had wiped it in weeks.

"Sam!" she called again, finally spotting her old barkeep and striding toward him as he poured a beer, watering it by a good half a glass. "Sam! What are you doing?"

He glanced up but didn't answer. Instead, he shoved the weak ale down the bar toward a tattered old man. "Last one, Bub," he snapped. "Ain't givin' out no more charity tonight."

The old man whimpered and lifted the glass to his cracked lips with trembling hands. Kitty leaned forward, heart pounding, and saw him. "Louie?" she whispered, then cleared her throat and repeated, "Louie?"

The drunk blinked once, then again, failing to focus on her face. "Don' know ya," he mumbled, wrapping both hands around the glass to steady it.

"I think you've had enough," she told him, reaching out to pull the glass back.

"Leggo!" he cried, pushing her away violently, the counter momentum sending him sprawling back into a table of drovers.

"Hey!" one of them yelled, grabbing Louie's thin shoulders and shoving him into one of the windows. The old man crashed through it, shattering glass. Kitty cried out and started to run toward him, but Sam caught her by the shoulders.

"He ain't worth it," he told her, cocking his head to where Louie was crawling up to his hands and knees. "Town drunk. Ain't never been worth nothin'. He'll drink himself to death soon enough and we'll be shed of him."

She stared, nonplussed.

As if he had just gotten a good look at her, he lifted his chin, his eyes scanning up and down her body, his lips curling in a sly sneer. "You lookin' fer a job, Red?" he asked.

Kitty's eyes widened. "Sam, what do you mean? It's me, it's Kitty."

His own eyes narrowed, leering. "Don't remember me no Kitty, but I'd be willing to make a new acquaintance." He reached for her, and she backed away, horrified.

"No! Sam, don't you know me? It's Kitty Russell."

That weathered face darkened dangerously. "Well, Kitty Russell, don't advertise yer wares if yer not gonna sell," he growled, turning back to the bar. "Now leave me be or get the hell outta my saloon."

"Your – " she began, but he was already serving another customer, whose appearance was just as disreputable as the rest of the patrons. Furiously, she turned to Panacea. "What is going on here?"

Before the other woman could answer, a raucous cackle echoing from halfway up the stairs drew their attention. Two women, poured into faded reminders of dresses that were never fine to begin with, fawned over a dust-laden cowboy. Their hands clawed at the man, rubbing openly over his filthy shirt and trousers. He returned the favors, grasping at their overflowing breasts and pulling them to him to kiss first one, then the other.

"Olive?" Kitty croaked. "Kate?"

They didn't bother with her, just continued their blatant groping. Olive lifted a leg and wrapped it around the cowboy's hips, and Kitty wondered if they were just going to get to it right there in the open without even finding a room. Before she realized it, she stood at the bottom of the stairs, close enough now to hear their conversation.

"…gotta be done by ten," Kate was saying. "That's the marshal's time."

The words were like a kick in the gut. Kitty swallowed, almost retching. The marshal's time.

Olive pushed at her. "It's my night with him," she declared. "You had him last night."

Undeterred, Kate seemed to forget their current customer and smiled. "There's enough of him to go around, ain't there, Olive?"

The other woman considered for a moment then grinned back knowingly. "More than enough," she agreed, both of them giggling before they resumed their concentration on the cowboy.

Kitty swing around, hand to her mouth, heart racing. Dear God, what was happening? Her eyes sought out Panacea, pleading as she asked, "They're not talking about – about – "

The older women gave her a sad shrug.

She had to get out of there, had to find Doc or Chester or – Matt. Surely it wasn't really – If she could just find Matt, he would know what to do – he would help her –

"And I say yer a cheatin' son of a bitch!" The loud accusation rose from the faro table by the front doors, where a thin-shouldered man stood, derringer pointed toward an oily looking dealer.

"I don't have to cheat, mister, when yer such a sorry player."

The pop of the small gun jerked a gasp from Kitty, and she couldn't help but cry out as the dealer crumpled, sagging over the table, his blood staining the green felt.

"Damn it to hell!" Sam cursed, tugging the shotgun from under the bar and unloading it with a roar into the gambler, whose body was slammed up and over the dead dealer's, crashing through the other window and rolling to rest on the boardwalk, gore spilling across the wood from the gaping hole in his back.

After a few beats of silence, the piano tinkled again, glasses clinked, and conversations resumed. Three men dragged the faro dealer out onto the street and dropped him, then resumed their own interrupted game of poker.

"They're just – just going to leave them there?" Kitty stammered to Panacea.

"Someone will come get them," she told her. "It's – not unusual here."

"Hell no," offered another cowboy, sliding his arm around Kitty's waist. He smelled of sweat and stockyards. "Everybody knows the Long Branch is the shoddiest place in town. Don't nobody care what happens here. Not even that hard-nosed lawman we got. " He laughed. "'Cept maybe when he comes in fer a poke."

"I've gotta get out of here, Pan," Kitty groaned, pushing from the man's grasp and rushing toward the doors. "There's something wrong, something terribly wrong."

As she plunged into the darkness of the street, she ran into a man staggering in. Catching herself against him, she looked up into a pair of red-rimmed, sad brown eyes. His hair was scattered and greasy, his clothes in the same condition. Just as she was about to mumble an apology, she caught her breath in horrid recognition.

"Chester!"

Hearing his name, the emaciated man narrowed his watery gaze on her unfamiliar face and worked his mouth into a hard, straight line. He braced his back against the wall to steady himself before he turned down the boardwalk to limp away, casting one last over-the-shoulder, whipped-dog glance at the redhead.

"Chester, you look feverish. Let me help you up to Doc's," she said, catching up with him to thread her arm through his.

"Damn you, woman," he screeched, pushing her away with enough force to leave him off balance. Flailing his arms he clamored his way to the nearest post for support, spun on his good leg, and continued, "I don't need yours nor nobody else's pity."

"Pity?" Kitty repeated, utterly confused at the sudden transformation of this once gentle companion to her beloved Dodge City marshal. "I'm not pitying you, Chester. I never have, and neither has anyone else. I'm just offering help because it's clear to me that you aren't..."

"Aren't what? Aren't normal? That I'm a worthless cripple? A gimp? Go ahead, say it, whoever you are. I know you're thinking it, like everybody else in this God-forsaken place." His eyes burned with anger, hurt, hatred.

Bewildered, Kitty frowned and raised her voice. "'Whoever you are?' Is that what you called me? Chester, I'm getting you up to Doc's office right now."

A wild, high-pitched laugh of disgust escaped Chester's lips. "Adams? Mentioning that bastard's name to me proves you don't know me. Otherwise, you'd know I ain't setting foot in that old sawbone's office again. Who do you think did this to me?"

Kitty recoiled in shock as Chester forced his pant leg over his boot to just below his knee, revealing a crude wooden prosthesis in place of his leg.

"Now you gonna leave me be?" Chester glared at her, lowered his pant leg, and hobbled off down the boardwalk.

"No! I don't believe it. Doc," Kitty cried. "I want to go see Doc."

Panacea hesitated. "Kitty," she said gently, "he's not the man you knew."

But Kitty wasn't listening. She had gathered up her skirts and was all but running across the alley toward Doc's office. She climbed the steps and threw open his door without hesitation. Doc was slumped over his desk, his head pillowed on his arm, snoring. A dirty glass stood beside his hand, and an empty bottle of whiskey had fallen over onto its side.

Kitty stopped dead. The office was the same – except that it wasn't. The glass cabinet of medical supplies was dusty, and the supplies almost non-existent. The examining table still stood in the center of the room, but it was covered with a filthy blood-stained sheet that sickened her to see. The floor hadn't been swept in months, and the single other chair had a broken leg and a cushion so dirty it was almost impossible to tell that it had once been covered in plaid cloth.

"Doc?" Kitty went over to the snoring man and shook his shoulder gently. He roused after a while and peeked at her though one rheumy blue eye.

"Yeah. Who're you? Whaddaya want?"

"Doc, what's wrong? Are you sick?"

"You're a pretty one, aren't ya?" he slurred. "Get yourself in trouble, didja? Come to see ol' Doc. Well, I'll fix you right up. How far gone d'ya reckon y'are?"

"Doc!" Kitty backed away from him.

He sat up further and leered at her. "Say, you really are a pretty one. How much would you charge me for a tumble? Maybe we could do a swap, you and me?" He rooted around in the desk and pulled out a second bottle of whiskey. "Join me inna drink?"

Kitty retreated to the doorway, staring at the wreckage of the man she had revered for his wisdom and kind and gentle ways.

"I told you he wasn't the man you remembered." Panacea reminded her.

"What happened to him?" Kitty was holding her hand to her mouth.

"What happens to many doctors in the west, I'm afraid. They come out here to forget the demons of their past, but they can't, so they begin to drink and create fresh demons in their new surroundings. No one comes to him if they can avoid it. He survives by conducting autopsies on the corpses of Dillon's kills, and "helping" the saloon girls who get into trouble. He didn't have you around to care for him, or anyone really to care about. He was lonely. Matt never opened up to him. Without you as the buffer, they barely spoke. The spark of humanity which motivated him crawled into a bottle of whiskey – and he crawled in after it."

"This isn't possible, Doc wouldn't…" Kitty stammered, unable to reconcile the images before her.

"You gonna keep on talking, or do you have business here?" Doc narrowed his eyes at her.

"Oh, Curly," Kitty lamented, her voice breaking as she reached out a hand to stroke his unkempt hair.

Adams abruptly pushed her hand away. "Listen, Kitty, was it? Well, Kitty, either you need me to take care of your little problem, or you don't. Either way, I don't take to some saloon gal trying to be more than she ought to be."

Kitty stared for a moment, trying to find a remnant of the man she knew. When he only returned her stare, she turned to Pan. "Take me to Matt, now!"

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Sufficient Measure**

**Part II**

"Take me to Matt, now!"

The older woman hesitated. "I don't know, Kitty."

"Please. Is he – is he with someone else, Pan? Is that it?"

"Maybe it's best if you don't see him."

"No! I have to. I know he had – other women before I came to Dodge. Is it one of them?"

Panacea shook her head. "There's no one, or at least not just one. He, uh, finds companionship when he needs it, but nothing permanent. You see, there's no one here to understand him, no one to let him be himself, no one to wait for him and to listen to him, and to – love him. No one. Because _you_ aren't here, Kitty."

She realized they were back in the Long Branch now, not even remembering the walk. "I don't believe that. If I could just see him – "

Panacea sighed and nodded toward the doors. Kitty's eyes widened, anticipating.

He strode into the saloon, tall and broad shouldered and handsome as ever. Kitty caught her breath, felt her heart pound just as it always had. Thank God! Even if all else failed, if all else was lost, she still had Matt, still could survive with Matt. No one greeted him as he entered. No one nodded a welcome or offered a drink. Instead, those who noticed him seemed to shy away, scoot their chairs closer to the tables, slide farther down the bar. As he drew closer to where she stood, she sought out his eyes, trying to reassure herself that he was Matt, still Matt, but instead of the warm confidence touched with mischief that she was used to, his eyes were cold steel, hard and suspicious.

"Dillon!" The challenge came from a man who stood near the faro table in the front corner. Kitty cringed at the familiar scene as the stranger raised both hands to hover over dual holsters, his intent clear. Before he could make another move, Matt spun so fast she barely registered the movement, his bullets – three in a row – smashing into the foolish opponent's chest before the doomed man could even draw.

She couldn't help crying out his name. "Matt!"

He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he zeroed in on her. For a moment, she thought he knew her, could imagine him opening his arms wide, welcoming her into them, enveloping her in his strong, secure warmth. After a beat, he shoved his Colt back into the holster and lifted his chin in the general direction of a nearby table. "Get him outta here," he ordered, not bothering to watch as three men scrambled to obey.

When the racket of boots dragging along wood faded down the boardwalk, he allowed a curious smile to curve his lips. Taking two long strides, he drew up in front of her, his eyes quickly but thoroughly scanning up and down her body. She resisted the shiver that tickled her spine.

"Should I know you, miss?" he asked, his tone somewhere between courteous and seductive.

You should, she thought. Dear God, you should. "I'm – I'm Kitty," she offered, praying that it meant something to him.

But he just raised his brows, his smile widening. "Well, Kitty, it's my pleasure. You new here?"

"Um, kind of." He stared at her for several seconds, prompting her to ask, "Is there something wrong?"

"You called me Matt. I just thought maybe –" He trailed off, shaking his head before placing a large hand possessively on her waist. "Buy you a drink?"

How she wanted to let him. How she yearned for him to be Matt – _her _Matt. Glancing back, she saw Panacea frown. "Thank you, but no." Then she quickly amended, "Not now, anyway."

His tongue clicked against his teeth in what she perceived to be minor disappointment. "Maybe when I come back after my rounds tonight?" He glanced upstairs before holding her gaze again. "Which one's your room, honey?"

Despite her desire to be with him, sudden anger surged through her at the blatant proposition. "I thought this was Olive's night," she snapped.

Instead of resenting her comment, he laughed and placed his other hand on her waist so that he held her in a loose embrace. "She can wait." Then a shrug lifted his broad shoulders. "Or she can join – "

The whack resounded throughout the bar, drawing instant silence and astonished stares from every customer and girl. Her hand stung from the force of the slap, and she caught the sob that suddenly leaped in her throat.

His hands grabbed her shoulders and dragged her against him. For a moment, she thought he would hit her, and she wondered if she'd be conscious enough to escape. He shook as if he were chilled, his eyes haunted and hollow, his face abruptly pale except where her hand had reddened it.

"Who _are _you?" he demanded, shaking her. "Who the _hell_ are you?"

"Kitty!" she cried. "I'm Kitty. Oh, Matt, don't you know me? _Don't you?"_

As if he just realized what he was doing, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a heavy breath. Teeth gritted, he ground out, "Why? Tell me why I should. Tell me – _Kitty_._"_

His voice almost pleaded, but she could only stammer, "I – I – I can't – "

Darkness clouded his eyes, and he turned away. "Get out, then. I don't need you. I don't need any – " Catching himself, he spun on a heel and strode to the bar, slamming his hand down on the counter. "Whiskey, Sam!" he demanded, and the barkeeper complied instantly.

Kitty stood in the middle of the saloon, trembling under the curious stares of the patrons, all strangers now.

"Kitty?" Panacea asked quietly. When she didn't answer, her old friend prodded again. "Kitty? Let's go."

Agony marring her beautiful features, Kitty looked around the place that had once been her home, stared at the wide back of the man who had once been her lover, mourned for the life that had once been her own. "I couldn't have caused all of this!"

"You didn't, but your absence did," Pan softly explained. "Don't you realize that when you came to town, Matt Dillon became a better man and a better friend? Because of you he was able to trust, to love? Without you, he was never able to break through the walls he had so carefully constructed around himself."

"But – but what about Doc – and Chester? What did I do – "

"Doc hid behind his own walls. After the war he had nothing, no family, no wife, and Dodge was a perfect place to hide. No one touched him like you did, no one made him smile or see the good in people. And neither man was able to be the kind of friend Chester needed, to make him feel needed, important. Without that, Chester remained an outcast, useless."

The weight of Panacea's revelation crushed her. Dear God! "I want to go home, Pan. Please, take me home."

"But I thought you said – "

"I can't stand this. Everybody's different. They are all – they are – please take me back. It doesn't matter what happens to me. Just get me back to _my _Dodge, to _my _friends. Get me back to _my_ Matt! _Please_."

As Panacea nodded knowingly, the air turned chilly, then colder and colder until it was frigid again. Kitty shook herself and looked around. She was still at the creek, still wearing the too-small dress she had purchased for Mary Ronniger. The shawl she had intended for Bess was still wrapped about her trembling shoulders. There was no sign of Panacea, no evidence that she had been there at all. It was dark now, only a few flakes of snow still drifted down. The fire had died, and with no matches left, she settled back into shivering despair. She didn't know how long she had lain there, minutes maybe, or hours, when a distant noise made her struggle to sit. Squinting, she thought she saw a faint beam of light moving in the distance, moving toward her. Fear sliced through her when she realized it must be the eyes of a wild animal. Oh, God, no, not this way. Please!

She heard the animal splash into the creek, loud and frantic in its pursuit, but she was too weak to do anything but wait helplessly to feel her tender flesh ripped apart by some vicious wild creature.

"Kitty! Kitty!"

Instead of sharp teeth, she felt strong, but gentle, hands. Confusion swam through her muddled brain. Her head lolled to one side, hitting the solid wall of...a human body. She gasped and sucked in a shuddering breath. Matt's scent. Matt's chest. Matt! She forced her eyes open and spoke through chattering teeth. "Ma – Matt?"

"Put your arms around my neck so I can lift you out of here." The rich voice was unmistakable, but how, where...?

She made a feeble effort, and he lifted her into his arms, cradling her against the solid warmth of his chest. Then he quickly shifted her so he could shed his coat and wrap it around her quivering body.

No longer trusting her own sense of reality, she reached up and touched his face, the stubble of several days' growth of beard prickly against her nearly numb fingertips. "Is it really you, Matt?"

"It's me, Kitty. Now don't talk. Just let me get you out to the road and up on Buck." He picked up the lantern he had set on the ground, scooped up the soggy reticule next to it, and, slipping and sliding, carried her through the frozen brush and up the icy bank to the Silver Creek Road.

Still dazed and confused, she felt him stand her against Buck's side, wrapping her fingers firmly around the saddle horn. "Hold tight, Kitty, I need you to stand here for just a minute." Moving quickly, he untied the bedroll and rain slicker from the animal's back and pulled a small flask of whiskey from the saddlebag. Then he lifted her into the saddle and swung his big body up behind her.

Finally beginning to believe that this was real, that Matt had come out of nowhere to her rescue, she relaxed a bit and leaned her head back against his chest, feeling him wrap the bedroll around her shoulders. Using his pocket knife, he cut a wider opening into the slicker, sliding it first over his own head and then pulling her close against his body so that it draped over the two of them, allowing both their heads to poke through the hole he had enlarged. She obediently swallowed the water he offered and took in a tiny sip of the warming whiskey. "Let's get you home, now," he whispered against her ice-flecked curls.

Matt gave Buck his lead, and the faithful animal carefully picked his way over the dark and treacherous road, arriving in front of the Long Branch well after a weak winter sunrise had seeped across the horizon. Kitty, who had slipped in and out of sleep on the ride back to town, roused when the rocking motion stopped. Opening her eyes, she saw the saloon in front of her, not the dilapidated, run-down building she had recently visited with Pan, but the same well-kept, albeit smoke-singed, building that had been her home for many years.

"We'll have to use the back stairs," she told him. "There was a fire..."

"I know."

_And I'm not sure I want to see anyone else, anyway,_ she thought, remembering the unkempt bartender and the slovenly patrons who had populated the filthy, vermin infested, dung-strewn room.

He carried her carefully up the rickety stairs, and she felt his big hand fumble beneath her knees as he attempted to insert the key into the warped lock and push open the door. Once inside, he carried her across the familiar sitting room to the bedroom. He placed her on the bed and searched through dresser drawers until he found towels and a nightgown. Then, as if in yet another dream, although a pleasant one this time, she watched him strip off her cold, wet clothing and wrap her in the soft towels, rubbing gently until her tender skin was dry again. Pleased that she was warming slightly, he dropped a soft flannel gown over her head and grabbed a towel from the side of the washstand, rubbing it gingerly over her face and hair, careful with the cuts and bruises as he removed the worst of the mud and remaining clumps of ice. "We'll brush it later," he said hoarsely, throwing the towel to the floor and pulling the plain blue quilt up to her chin.

She felt the mattress sink under his weight as he sat down on the edge of the bed, a calloused hand pushing strands of red hair from her face. Then his hands slid beneath the comforter, and she felt their strength and warmth as he moved them over her body, checking her arms and legs for broken bones.

"Kitty, are you all right? Does anything hurt?"

"I think I'm all right, but I don't understand what's – Where did you come from? How did you find me?"

"Got back to town early for Christmas and found out you were gone." He cleared his throat. "So, I came after you."

"Oh, Matt – "

"Kitty," he sighed, shaking his head, "what on earth compelled you to head out by yourself?"

Kitty looked away, unsure if she could explain how she had felt the morning she had left Dodge. "I was, well, restless, I guess, and upset…"

"I didn't help that, did I?" Matt spoke softly as he laid one long finger under her chin and turned her face back toward him. "Then the fire. Thank God you weren't hurt."

"I just felt…empty, I guess. I didn't know how I was going to repair the place, still don't. And then you had to – well, I needed to be with someone, and I...oh, I don't know. I guess I was just feeling sorry for myself."

Matt took a moment before he spoke. "Kitty, do you remember what you talked about when we were heading home?"

Her mind had been so cluttered then, so unsure of what had happened, that she was reluctant even to guess. "Not really," she admitted.

"You, uh, you were thanking Panacea for bringing me back to you," Matt explained, raising one eyebrow in question.

Kitty had no words to explain her incredible journey with Pan, and she was sure Matt wouldn't understand if she tried. Instead, she simply looked at him and allowed a soft smile to curve her lips. "She was there with me, Matt. She...I know it sounds crazy, but..."

He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, wet linen square. "I'd say it was just the cold and shock, but ..." As he held it in front of her, Kitty sat upright in the bed, her fingers tracing the faded blue "P" crookedly embroidered into one corner of the cloth.

"It's not possible. This can't be…" She stared at him. "Where did you get this?"

He gathered her into his arms, pressing his warm lips against her chilled cheek. "I don't know what happened out there, honey, and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, but someone was. This was right there on the ground, Kitty. It was next to your reticule."

"This makes no sense. I...I made this handkerchief myself. I was twelve years old..." She leaned back against the pillows, hearing Pan's frequent admonition as clearly as if she were back in New Orleans and Panacea, gone to her grave some six months now, were standing before her. _Mind you wear a starched petticoat and carry__ a clean linen handkerchief, child. _

Kitty's eyes sought Matt's. "You might not understand, Matt, but Pan really was good to me-in her own way. Anyway, it was Christmas and I wanted to give her a present, but I had no money. One of the other girls did really fine needlework, and she offered to make a set of handkerchiefs for me." She smiled at him. "But I wanted to do it myself."

"Of course you did," he muttered under his breath, but the grin on his face warmed both her body and her heart.

"Thing was, I didn't have Marianna's skill with a needle." She laughed. "This is the only one I actually made. Marianna made three more, each with a different color thread for the "P." Green, pink and yellow. But I did the blue one myself." Tears formed in her eyes as she looked down at the well-worn square. "See how squiggly that curlicue on the end looks? That's my needlework. I know I made this, Matt...but how...?"

Seeming to understand that Kitty would not be able to provide any explanation, Matt cleared his throat and said, "I'll be right back. I'm going for Doc."

"No, Matt, not Doc, I don't want— " But he was already gone out the back door.

She snuggled into the warm blankets and smiled at his retreating back. Even in her fitful sleep on the trip home, she had been aware of his strong arms holding her close, buffering the jolts as the horse slipped and slid his way along the ice-rutted road. She had felt his warm lips brushing her hair, heard his worried voice murmuring sounds of comfort. This was the Matt Dillon she knew—the honorable U.S. Marshal, the tender, faithful lover. This was _her _Matt, not the hardened, jaded lawman she had seen earlier.

The thought made her feel much better, and she slipped from the bed and threw on a robe. Sitting at her mirror, she ran a brush through the wreck that was her hair and pulled it back into a simple ponytail, scrubbing quickly at the traces of mud still clinging to her face.

Just as she finished, a knock sounded, and Matt's voice called, "I'm back, Kitty, and Doc's with me."

Heart pounding with fear at which Doc she might see, she threw open the door, drinking in the sight of the familiar compassion in the physician's eyes, the confidence on his face.

"Doc!" she cried, grabbing him and giving him a solid kiss on the cheek.

"Say, now!" He cocked an eyebrow at Matt. "She hit her head?"

The marshal smiled and shook his own head. "Not that I know of, Doc."

"Oh, Doc, it's you! It's really you."

"'Course it is. Who'd ya' think? Every other physician's got better sense than to hang around this cowtown. Here, let me take a look at you, honey." He looked her over quickly, but carefully, declaring her exhausted and a bit the worse for wear, but generally fit, all things considered.

"Good enough?" Matt asked cryptically.

"Good enough," Doc answered, winking.

Eyes narrowing, Kitty asked, "What are you two up to?"

"Put something on. We're going downstairs."

"Downstairs? But it's burned, Matt. We can't – "

It was a rare occasion when Matt Dillon interrupted her, but he did now. "Just get dressed. I'll explain when we get down there."

Stepping behind the screen, she slipped into a clean petticoat, skirt and shirtwaist, securing the fastenings as quickly as she could before she tugged on dry shoes. When she emerged, she found both men grinning at her, each with an arm extended for her to take. Laughing at their little-boy expressions, she gave in, stepped between them and allowed herself to be escorted across the balcony.

The saloon was empty, but she could see the shine on the polished wooden bar and the glare of lamps glinting off the brass spittoon by the front door. The tables were clean and empty, save for the chairs in their proper place on top. Fresh boards created a new staircase, framed new doorways. Sam appeared, wiping his hands on a soot-streaked towel, his apron crisp and clean. His hound dog eyes lit up when he saw her. "Welcome back, Miss Kitty."

"Sam?" she asked. "What on earth are you doing here? And what's going on? Where did this wood come from?"

"Percy Crump sent it over. There's more out back. Half the town's been over here cleaning up and replacing the burned sections."

"How...why?"

But before he could answer, the doors to the saloon burst open. Kitty gasped, hanging on to Matt's arm, as dozens of townspeople flooded inside. Each seemed to be carrying something. She watched, open-mouthed, as baskets of food spread across the tables, swaths of red and green cloth draped the banister and door frames, and an impromptu band of fiddles, spoons, and a Jews Harp filled the room with Christmas music. Laughing, Doc kissed her on the cheek and headed out to join the fun.

She looked up at Matt, only to find him gazing down at her, his eyes tender and soft. "What – "

"For you, Kitty," he said, smiling. "They wanted to make sure you had your Christmas party. Everybody in town pitched in something."

"But why?"

Those tender eyes widened in surprise. "Why? Because – because you are important to them. This town and these people wouldn't be the same without you, Kitty." Lowering his voice so that only she could hear, he added, "Neither would I."

Her heart overflowing, she threw her arms around him, heedless of the scene they made. "Oh, Matt!" And to her delight, he returned the embrace with just as much exuberance.

They both watched the crowd, content in each other's arms. With a chuckle, Kitty said, "I hope they brought their own beer, because I don't have –"

"Drinks for everyone!" Sam called out, pouring sparkling wine into rows of glasses set up across the bar. "Compliments of – "

"Eddie Fitch?" Stunned, Kitty stared at the counter where her supplier stood and inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Heard you ran a little short on supplies recently, Miss Russell," he said, nodding toward the cellar. "There's enough re-stock to tide you over until things get back on track."

Another hand waving vigorously drew her attention to the door. "Chester!" she cried out in joy.

Wearing his best coat and string tie, Chester Goode limped through the crowd, pausing to accept a glass of wine from Doc. When he reached her, Kitty flung her arms around him.

"Oh, Chester! You look wonderful!"

"Now, forevermore, Miss Kitty," he protested, "you'll make me blush. You like your party, do ya?"

"I certainly do. I'll bet you had something to do with it, too."

He ducked his head slightly in acknowledgement. "Well, maybe I did. We just couldn't have Christmas without Miss Kitty's famous Christmas party. Wouldn't be the same."

She felt Matt's arm squeeze her gently, but before she could say anything else, Doc interrupted them, hushing the crowd and nodding to Louie Pheeters. Dressed in his finest and stone sober, the old man proudly stepped to the middle of the room and lifted a glass above his head.

"To Miss Kitty," he announced. "The First Lady of Dodge!"

A host of glasses lifted in response, and Kitty couldn't keep the tears from coursing down her cheeks. As Matt pulled her closer, she looked at the faces smiling at her and realized that she had, indeed, made a difference. She had touched their lives, and in turn her life had been touched. And she wouldn't change a thing.

**End **


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